


Boy Next Door

by GoblinWithAHeart



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: AFAB-Reader, Awkward reader, Established Friendship, F/M, First Time, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, PWP, Pining, Reader-Insert, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, consent is important, domestic helper!connor, no y/n it's a personal preference, skip to chapter 2 for the Good Stuff (tm), slight AU, they start fuckin 3000 words in, total smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 16:13:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15867162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoblinWithAHeart/pseuds/GoblinWithAHeart
Summary: You live next door to the apartment with the extremely hot android that helps care for its elderly tenant. Who can blame you when you can't keep your thoughts away from him, and who can blame you, when after a few drinks, you decided to act on those thoughts?This is smut, plain and simple. Had to split it into two parts because I CAN'T GET TO THE FUCKING POINT, I GUESS.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time writing smut, though it's only featured in the second chapter, haha. leave a kudos or comment if you like it!

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

Connor blinked, processing your request, probably dumbfounded that for once,  _ you _ were asking  _ him  _ something. But he found his voice, a pleasant smile on his lips as he replied, “Of course. What would you like to know?”

You worried the hems of your sleeves just as you worried your bottom lip between your incisors. You couldn’t bring yourself to make eye contact, curling into yourself more, almost forming into the corner of the couch. “Do you--do  _ androids _ … Feel?”

“We don’t necessarily feel, as such,” Connor began, and you managed to at least look at him, albeit sans eye contact. “However, android skin is equipped with sensors that detect pressure, heat, and texture.” He turned his head slightly, and his curious brown eyes bored into you. You wanted to stuff your face into the collar of your shirt and hide. “Why do you ask?”

“I just--” You felt blush creep up from your collar bones, coloring your cheeks. “Curious. Just curious.”

“Okay,” Connor smiled, pleasant as ever. “If you have any other questions, do feel free to ask. It is my duty to serve people and make them happy.”

You couldn’t help your eyes roving over the android sitting next to you on the couch, his posture perfect in his CyberLife issued uniform, a simple button-down style shirt, rolled to the elbows, emblazoned with the ever-present blue triangle and arm band, accompanied by smart black jeans that hugged his legs  _ deliciously _ \--

No. Stop. Bad. You were  _ not _ thirsting after him. You were absolutely  _ not  _ wanting to ask him if he could feel the heat of a kiss against his lips, his jaw, his neck. If he could feel the way your body would shake under his hands--good god, his  _ hands _ , what they could do to you, what you  _ dreamt _ about them doing to you. How you wanted to know if he was fully equipped, or if--

“Are you alright?” You snapped back to reality, your sinful train of thought derailing somewhere off in the distance. Concern shaped Connor’s brow, and you could feel his stare penetrating through you. “Your temperature has risen, along with your heart rate.”

“I’m fine,” you spoke, voice high, abruptly standing to your feet. Your bare soles hit the plush carpet and you were pulling him up by the arm and pushing him towards the door before the heat on your face made you spontaneously combust. “I think I heard Lucille calling you, you should go see what she needs.” Your voice rushed out of your mouth and Connor tried to turn to say something, but you were already opening the door, and he was already past the threshold, and you were already saying, “It’s been great! Thanks, bye.”

And you closed the door on a confused Connor.

You closed your eyes, resting your forehead against the cool surface of the door, and a deep sigh welled up from your chest. “Jesus H. Christ, get it together, girl.”

Lucille was going to ask about this tomorrow, you knew it.

\---

Lucille was Connor’s owner, the woman the android was tasked with caring for. She was ancient yet lively, a full spirit, your apparent adoptive grandma, and the _ worst _ gossip you’d ever met in your life.

So, naturally, you avoided her like the plague the day after your embarrassing question. Normally, you’d have spent lunch with her after her water aerobics class, and then you’d chat with Connor--the handsome bastard--and feel like a creep for lusting after your grammy’s caretaker.

But today, you holed up in your apartment, trying futilely to work on your latest freelance project. You couldn’t focus, though, your thoughts flying to and fro and always, inevitably, going back to that damn android.

You hunched over your desk, stylus in hand, zero progress made.

Your thoughts wandered back to your conversation with Connor the day before. How bold, how brash--it was an open flirtation and you honestly didn’t know what you were expecting when he answered so matter of factly.

When it came down to it, Connor was made with a purpose, and that purpose didn’t involve  _ you _ .

“Shit,” you cursed, pushing away from your desk. You were getting nowhere  _ and  _ making yourself feel bad. You walked the short distance from your drafting table to your kitchen, pulling open a cabinet and retrieving a dark colored bottle. You may not make any progress on your project, but at least you could remedy the other problem.

You pulled a glass from the other cupboard and poured yourself a generous finger of liquor and shot it back, pursing your lips at the burn. You poured another, this time opting to sip instead of shoot, settling in front of the tv.

Sometimes you just have to call a mulligan on the whole day.

\---

It was almost dark out now, and you were feeling a pleasant buzzing warmth in your whole body, a cozy, comforting blanket covering your whole brain. You were watching some trashy reality show on the tv, laughing at the manufactured drama, feeling monumentally better with the alcohol swimming in your veins.

You were feeling so much better, you hadn’t even thought about Connor for a whole hour at least. You hadn’t thought about wanting to kiss him, to press your body against his, and have him leave bruises in the shape of his lips on your neck, your chest, your thighs.

Maybe it was the booze, but for the first time, you didn’t halt the steamy train of thought in your mind. You took another sip of your drink, and what the hell, it’s only a little fun, a little thought experiment…

You weren’t paying attention to the show anymore, instead you were caught up in your imagination, eyes dark. You could almost picture it: to hell with your reservations, you would kiss him, and he would kiss you back--would  _ want _ you back, and you would know just how deft those fingers really were, how precise he could be, his machinations not focused on housework, but instead on  _ you _ . A warm touch, a hot mouth, he would make you say infernal things, terrible, wicked curses.

It wasn’t just the alcohol pooling heat in your stomach now, and you pressed your thighs together, all worked up just from  _ imagining _ being with Connor.

The arm holding your glass hung lazily from the arm of your couch, the other began a slow trail from your collar bones, a light touch leaving a wake of goosebumps behind. Your eyes closed, a tantalizing scene playing out behind them.

You imagined your own touch was Connor’s and it was him who was tracing his fingertips down your chest, catching on the collar of your tank top, pulling it lower, exposing the blush on your chest. You imagined artificial breath in your ear, sweet words on sweet lips, as touch traveled lower, trailing over your stomach, the soft flesh yielding. You bit your lip, heart pounding as you imagined his sinful fingers teasing you, running over the elastic waistband of your shorts.

He would be smiling his trademarked smirk, a light pull of just one corner of his mouth, eyes hungry and almost  _ predatory _ . A finger dipping below the fabric, feeling the soft material of your panties, then his touch moving lower still, to the pooled heat at the apex of your thighs--

A sharp knock sounded from your front door and you jolted, eyes snapping open, hand flying from your shorts. The grip on your cup failed and it fell to the floor, sending shards of glass and liquor across the hardwood planks.

“Fuck!” You shouted, half from being startled and half from the mess you’d just made. You sprung to your feet, careful to avoid the glittering splinters as you rushed to the kitchen for a dish towel--no, a broom--no, both--

There was another round of knocking, this time accompanied by a familiar voice calling your name. “It’s Connor,” and you knew that, you knew his voice anywhere, “Is everything alright?”

Why was he here? Your pulse pounded in your ears, a mix of embarrassment and buzz. “I’m fine!” You called back, “Everything’s fine!”

You had a towel in one hand, the other fumbling with the dustpan threatening to pop off the handle of the broom, and you were caught between the short few steps to the mess you’d made and the front door as Connor called again, “I heard glass breaking. May I come in?”

“Fuckfuckfuck,” you whispered to yourself, and you had to have been tipsier than you thought, because instead of politely declining, you walked to the door, managing to open it, towel flailing and dustpan finally clattering to the floor.

Connor stood on the other side of your threshold, expression neutral as he took in what must have been a sight. You were in your pajamas, hair disheveled, booze on your breath, cleaning supplies clearly winning out over your dexterity. He seemed to pay it no mind though, smiling warmly after only a fraction of a second. “Good evening. May I come in?”

You stared at him dumbly for a moment, your previous fantasy still fresh in your mind as you looked up at his stupidly handsome face. You could have sworn you saw his eyebrow quirk ever-so-slightly as he looked back at you, and you finally stumbled to the side, stammering, “Oh, yeah, yeah, sorry.”

“Thank you,” he said as he stepped into your apartment, one he had to be intimately familiar with by now, with how much time he’d spent in it. Still, you noticed he scanned the environment as he always did, no doubt finding the source of the crashing sound within a second. “It seems you dropped a glass.”

You closed the door, bending down to pick up the dustpan again. He was as astute as ever. “Yeah,” you confirmed, standing. “Butterfingers, I guess.” You looked up and Connor was right next to you, and it felt as though all the air had been sucked out of your lungs. The android never did have much sense of personal space, but you could have leaned over and fell right against him with no effort on your part.

You swallowed thickly, his deep brown eyes locked on yours as he reached up to take the towel and broom away. “You should be more careful,” he chastised, and you thought you heard a note of teasing to his tone. “Broken glassware is one of the most common causes of household injury.”

“Oh,” you replied lamely, and his fingers brushed yours as he took the cleaning supplies from your hands. His hands were warm, and you felt a jolt of electricity travel from the point of contact down through your spine. God, you were hopeless. Connor gave one of his smirks, and turned towards the mess you had made. You shook your head, tried to clear the fog in your brain just from being in his presence. “Hey, wait,” you protested, crossing the few steps over to where he knelt next to your couch, dutifully cleaning up after you. “You don’t have to do that!”

But Connor was too efficient, already having deposited the large pieces into the dustpan, using the now-dampened towel to wipe up the smaller shards, and finally sweeping it all to ensure a thorough job. “Don’t worry about it,” he smiled, standing and moving around you to deposit the broken glass into the trash, shaking out the towel. “I’m happy to help.”

You scowled, hands on your hips. “So did you just come over here to clean up after me, or what? Why are you here, anyway?”

Connor turned back to you. “Lucille asked me to come over and check on you. She was quite concerned when you missed lunch,” he explained.

You deflated slightly, and it was stupid, because of course that’s why he came over. Why else would he? Because he wanted to see you? The alcohol in your blood sharpened your tone as you replied, “I just had work to do. You can go tell Luce I’m fine.”

“You’ve been drinking,” he said, and you knew there was no judgment to his tone, no scathing accusation. It was just a statement, but still blood rushed to your face, tinting your cheeks pink.

“I’m an adult, Connor. I can drink if it want to.” You crossed your arms over yourself, remembering where your thoughts had been wandering to before you had been interrupted.

“Typically, people drink during times of celebration or stress,” Connor replied, ever helpful. “But I don’t think you were celebrating.” He took a few steps, coming closer to you, his face full of concern, and why did he have to  _ do  _ that? You could barely keep your head on straight normally, how did you expect to keep composure when you were half drunk and he  _ looked like that _ ??

You chewed your bottom lip, something bubbling up in your chest, and you locked your eyes onto his and it was because you were drunk, it had to be, because before your brain caught up with your actions, you were grabbing his face and crashing your lips onto his, standing on tiptoes to reach.

You pressed your lips against his, and felt him stiffen under your touch, and that’s when your brain decided to catch up to you, your eyes whipping open and you practically jumped away as if you had been kissing a hot iron.

“I am so sorry,” you stammered. “I’m drunk, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You smacked your hands onto your face, feeling your cheeks burning with embarrassment under your palms.

You felt strong hands grip your wrists, pulling your hands from your face and Connor was looking down to you curiously, hands locked around you. “Why did you do that?” He asked, and you wanted to  _ run _ . But he had you held firm in his grasp, no escape possible.

“I don’t know,” you said, looking everywhere but at him, turning your head away. One of his hands left your wrist, instead taking firm hold of your jaw, forcing you to look at him, and what? Why--why was he looking at you like that?

Connor’s eyes were searching, dark and deep under a furrowed brow. His normally pleasant visage replaced with a seriousness you hadn’t seen ever before. He was leaned in close, and you could practically count every freckle they put on him, could map out every feature by sight alone. “Why did you kiss me?” He repeated, and your heart wanted to burst through your ribcage.

Your throat felt dry but still the words fell from your lips, a confession of a thousand sins, “I--I wanted to.”

Connor watched you speak the words you had held so secretively, and it was like he had finally realized something. “You’re attracted to me,” he concluded, and your cheeks burned ever brighter. He kept staring at you, and your knees felt like they were made of gelatin. You didn’t know what to say, how to respond to  _ that _ . It was just true, as true as the sky was blue.

“I want to kiss you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat at the sound of those words. Did he just--did Connor just say that? You had to be dreaming. You passed out on the couch and everything was just an alcohol-induced dream. He said he  _ wanted _ to  _ kiss you _ . “Okay,” you said, voice barely a whisper, acting of its own volition.

Your jaw was still held in his steady grasp as he leaned down, closing the last of the distance between you. You closed your eyes as his pressed his lips to yours in a manner much more measured than what you had previously done. His lips were soft, the kiss almost chaste as you practically melted into the embrace.

If it was a dream, they had better let you sleep.

Connor pulled away, and you wanted to chase the feeling, leaning up slightly after him before your sense came back to you and you opened your eyes. He was looking down to you with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. He ran a thumb over your lower lip, touch feather-light.

“Are you okay?” You asked, because you really weren’t sure. Connor had never acted like this before.

“I think so,” he replied, his voice lacking its usual confident cadence. It was lower, quieter, and his gaze was transfixed on your mouth. “I liked that.”

“Me, too,” you said. You wanted nothing more than to do it again, and again, and more things besides, but you were paralyzed. Connor was an android, and the lines of consent were hazy at best. “Why did you want to kiss me?”

Connor finally met your eyes, the question seeming to have snapped him from a reverie. He let go of both your wrist and jaw. He lowered his hands to his sides, his gaze following, brows furrowed yet in apparent confusion. You had never seen Connor confused about anything before, but it seemed you were the thing to finally stump him. “I don’t know,” he replied, and that was a first as well. Connor always had a reason for everything he did, his programming would allow for nothing less.

You knew you were both treading into uncharted waters, but danger be damned, you wanted to find out where it went.

“Do you want to do it again?”

Connor looked to you, his usual certainty returning. “Yes.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Do you want to do it again?”

Connor looked to you, his usual certainty returning. “Yes.”

That’s all it took, and his consent mixed with the alcohol, you bravely decided to lean up and capture his lips again.

You were much more controlled this time, not crashing into him like you had on your first impulse. You just kissed him, and you were surprised at how responsive he was, for all the experience you knew he didn’t have.

He was already an expert, and you guessed this sort of thing was somewhere in his programming, and again he was making you melt.

A soft sound left your throat and you lifted your hands to press them against the plane of his chest. Connor stiffened up again, and you pulled away from him, just slightly, and looked up at him.

His eyes were still closed, but his brow was furrowed, a mark of discomfort. “Connor,” you asked, “Are you alright?”

He fluttered his eyes open, and you only just realized he was flexing his hands open and closed at his sides. “Yes,” he replied, and he lifted his arms, his hands hovering over you, the barest width between his synthetic skin and yours. “I--I want to… Can I?”

“Yes,” you answered, a smile pulling at your lips. He wanted to touch you, and he was afraid of doing so without your permission. It was certainly a reversal of what you had expected. Connor gripped your arms then, pulling you back in, flush against him, as his mouth worked against yours.

You slipped your arms over his shoulders and he twined his around you, one hand splaying against your shoulder blades, the other settling to your lower back, and his touch was hot on your skin, heating you up like a fire was burning beneath the contact.

A wild thought entered your mind, and you nipped at his lower lip, catching it between your teeth. This elicited the most delicious little drawing of breath from him, and you pulled away again to survey his reaction.

Connor looked down at you again, and his mouth was open, a dark expression shadowing his usually doe-brown eyes. You watched, tantalized, as he ran his tongue over the spot you had claimed with your teeth, and couldn’t help the mischievous little smirk on your own face.

“More of that,” Connor said, voice dark, a new timbre to your ears.

You only replied with renewed fervor in a heated kiss, daring to press your tongue against his lips, a silent request. He obliged, and you tasted him then, your tongues raking over each other, and he wasn’t like anyone else you’d ever been with, some distinct flavor all his own, so uniquely  _ him _ .

It was intoxicating, and this mixed with your mild buzz had you behaving badly.

You broke from the kiss, instead peppering his jaw with light pecks, reaching the juncture at his neck and kissed there, too. He craned his head, laying the flesh of his throat open to you, and you devoured it hungrily, relishing the small noises that escaped him. All from your machinations. You smoothed your hands over his shoulders, his arms, his chest; you wanted to feel him, to make him make more of those delicious sounds But you noticed he was practically frozen, his hands still holding you across your back.

You had a feeling you knew what was wrong.

“Connor,” you breathed against his neck, and you felt his grip twitch against you, his fingertips pressing against your skin. “You can touch me, you know.” A tentative caress was his response, just a subtle shifting of his hand. That wouldn’t do. “You can do what you want, I’ll stop you if I have to.”

It was like a switch was flipped.

Suddenly he was upon you, his mouth hot on your skin, his teeth grazing against your pulse. His hands, now freed from shackles of his own making, grabbed at you, like he was testing the way your flesh gave under his grip. One planted itself at the curve of your waist, the other snaked up your spine, entangling fingers in the hair at the base of your skull.

He pulled your head back, his kiss hot on your throat, his teeth at your pulse. You didn’t know what came over him, but you were  _ not _ going to stop it. Your breath escaped you in heavy bursts as his deft tongue licked a small stripe at the corner of your jaw. His hand at your waist moved further down, gripping your ass with a powerful squeeze.

You squeaked in response, and Connor paused, looking down at you with concern, his eyes still darkened with desire. “Should I stop?”

“No,” you breathed.

“Good,” he answered, and suddenly you were in the air, the hand at your behind hooking under you, the other in your hair dropping to the other side and supporting you as Connor lifted you easily. You gripped him with your legs, arms slung around his neck as he effortlessly walked the both of you over to the couch. He sat himself down, and you ended up on his lap, thighs spread over his own.

Connor wasted no time in reclaiming your lips, his hands continuing to roam. His palms slid over your back, your waist, both hands landing firmly on your ass, squeezing the soft flesh, admiring how it felt beneath his grip.

Your hands were at his chest, and your fingers seemed to work of their own accord, undoing the row of buttons keeping the garment on him. The buttons popped free, one after the other, exposing more and more of Connor, the plane of his chest rising and falling with every breath he took, a measure to prevent overheating.

You pushed the material from his shoulders, and he pulled his arms from the shirt, hardly taking a moment from the trail of kisses he was making from your neck down to your collar bones. You planted your hands on his shoulders, pushing him back against the couch, and he watched you as you let your eyes trail over him, admiring the beautifully sculpted muscles, subtle, but still there. The freckles on his face continued down his torso, and every line and curve of him was  _ perfect _ to you, absolutely unflawed in every way.

“You’re right, Connor,” you said, voice thick with lust. “I am  _ very _ attracted to you.” 

A smirk pulled at the corner of his lips, dark and beautiful. He hooked his thumbs beneath your tank top. “I feel the same way,” he said, before lifting the thin garment from your body, and for once you were happy you weren’t wearing a bra when company came to call.

He took a moment to take in the view, then before you could react, his mouth was on you, his lips capturing a nipple between them, his tongue laving the sensitive skin, taking the hardening peak gently between his teeth.

You gasped, a moan erupting from your throat. It was like everything you’d ever dreamed about come to life, but better, because you didn’t expect it to be this  _ good _ . Every kiss, every movement, every grip of his fingers sent a shock of excitement through you; a bolt of electricity straight to your aching core. You were happy to be a little drunk, since otherwise you’d be embarrassed by the way you ground your hips against him, looking for friction.

Connor made a low noise, pausing his attention on your breasts. You smiled, doing it again, and watched a sudden gasp overtake him. You giggled, and he looked up at you, tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip. The look on his face was almost  _ devious _ , and he held eye contact as he ran his hand up your thigh, stopping just at the juncture of your hip and leg, fingers squeezing.

You bit your lip, and you wondered what he had in mind, what he was planning.

You hoped it had to do with those devilish hands of his.

You didn’t have to hope for long. He cupped his hand over your mound, and you gasped, smiling at his brazen act. You bucked your hips again, encouraging him to do  _ more _ . One swift movement and that hand was moving under the elastic of your shorts and beneath the soft material of your panties, his fingers gliding over your already slick folds.

Another moan fell from your lips, tumbling right onto Connor’s as you connected again in a heated kiss, his expert fingers finding your clit.

You tangled your hands in his hair, the sensation of him rubbing loose circles over that little nub so delicious. You were alternating between keeping your mouth locked on his and moaning ragged breaths against his lips.

“God, C-connor,” you stuttered as a shock of pleasure jolted up your spine. “You’re so good, fuck.”

He responded by stopping his work, and you  _ whined _ at the absence, a throaty mewl of displeasure, replaced with another gasp as he pushed two fingers into you, easy enough with how wet he made you, even before he began his devious ministrations.

“Fuck,” you hissed, the feeling of him inside you driving you wild. You closed your eyes and he crooked his digits, hitting the sweet spot no other lover had found before.

“Good girls don’t curse,” Connor chastised, his voice like dark velvet.

You opened your eyes then, gazing down at him with pupils blown wide. You ground your hips against his hand, fucking onto his fingers. “I’m no good,” you countered, leaning back, your hands gripping his legs for stability.

Connor only smirked, and he looked  _ perfect _ . Backlit by the dim light of your kitchen, the soft blue glow from the television behind you, hair uncharacteristically wild and eyes dark as the sea as he played you like a violin. He was your fantasy come to life, and he was finger-fucking you into a welcomed oblivion.

He was pumping into you, matching the rhythm set by the desperate thrusts of your hips, raking over that spot inside you that sent a magnetic field of pleasure coursing through your entire body. Connor reached his other hand out to your breast, teasing your nipple, releasing wanton noises from you that he relished in.

Pressure built up in your core, a familiar sensation, all at once too much and not enough. You were on the edge, almost there, only a little more--

“Connor--fuck--you’re, you’re so--” but you lost the thought, the pressure of his thumb rubbing tight circles around your clit obliterating any coherence you had left. You keened, head thrown back, “Connor, I’m gonna, I’m--”

“Come for me,” he commanded, and that voice, saying those words you’d only ever heard in your head, threw you over the edge.

The pleasure washed over you like a tidal wave, rippling through your body, sparks flying behind your eyelids. You felt yourself close down around Connor’s fingers and he mercilessly kept the pace, drawing out your orgasm until you grabbed his wrist, slumping back over him.

He withdrew his fingers as you caught your breath, your limbs feeling like gelatin. You looked into his eyes, their doe-like quality returning as he took in your disheveled appearance, thoroughly wrecked by a few simple motions of his hand.

“Did I do good?” He asked. Was he serious?? You stared at him, your face flushed and lips bitten red.

You didn’t know where you found the strength, though you gave some credit to Connor’s willingness to play along, but you pushed him to lay down on the couch, pinning him to the cushions.

You hovered over him, and as you looked down at his beautiful face, you knew you were not  _ nearly _ done with him.

“I’ll show you how good you did,” you purred, and he had the wherewithal to raise his brows in surprise. You snaked one hand down his chest, a light touch, the faux muscles beneath his skin flexing under your fingertips. You reached the waistband of his pants, hand moving lower to palm the hard length hidden beneath the fabric.

That answered one of your questions, at least.

This wasn’t your first tumble in the sheets, and you unbuttoned his fly and unzipped the zipper with a practiced ease. Connor hissed, eyes dropping closed, the pressure of his jeans released from him and you smirked, hand moving back to the prize.

“Am I this exciting?” You asked, gripping him through the thin material of his boxer briefs, causing him to draw another breath. You leaned down, mouth next to his ear. “This is how you make me feel,” you whispered, tongue darting out to lick the shell of his ear. “You make me feel like this all the time, Connor.”

“I--I like that,” he stammered, and you could feel the heat radiating off of him, a subtle blue tint rising to his cheeks.

“What do you like?” You asked, fingers delicately pulling the fabric of his underwear down, exposing him to the air.

Connor gasped, and you wondered if he’d ever felt this before. He said he could feel temperature, pressure, texture. You intended to put it all to the test.

“I like that I do that to you,” he answered, and you swore you heard a sort of static in his voice. You wrapped your fingers around his length; it was hot and heavy in your grip, and even without seeing it yet, you knew he was certainly well-equipped.

A small noise rumbled from his throat and you pumped your hand once, running your fingers over the tip, finding it slick there. He bucked his hips into your hand, his own gripping your waist.

You looked down at him below you, his lips parted, head thrown back, throat exposed. His chest heaved with every breath as you continued to pump your hand.

You wanted to  _ wreck _ him.

You pressed hot kisses at his throat, the skin too tempting to leave bare, before moving down, nipping at his collar bone, flicking a tongue over a nipple, leaving a kiss at each of the abs you could care to find, until you finally sat back on your heels.

Connor looked up at you, expression wanting. You only smiled, hands grabbing either side of his waistband, yanking down. “No need for these,” you said, and Connor got the message.

You stepped off the couch as he worked his pants off, discarding his shoes as well. You took the initiative to lose the last of your clothing as well, shucking your shorts and panties into a pile on the ground.

You both were fully exposed to each other, and you hoped he found you as tantalizing as you found him, from his sculpted chest to toned thighs, and if you were a wagering woman, you’d bet he had an ass that wouldn’t quit, either.

He must have appreciated the view, as his hand wandered to his cock, gripping it much the same way you had just been doing.

You batted his hand away. “I said I was going to show you how good you did,” you repeated, settling in the space between his legs. You ran your hands over his thighs, and he watched as your hand encircled him again, fascinated by your every movement.

Smirking, you leaned down, pressing your lips to the head of his cock with a delicate kiss. Connor sucked in a breath, and that was all the encouragement that you needed.

You licked a wide stripe from the base to the tip before sinking your mouth over him, tongue swirling against him.

The sound he made from that alone made all your previous pining worth it.

Connor wound a hand into your hair as you continued, bobbing slowly, trying to take as much of him as you could into your mouth. What you couldn’t reach you held with your hand, pumping along with your rhythm.

Connor moaned, music to your ears, his fingers running over your scalp. “So good,” he breathed, and another moan fell from his lips. You increased your pace, encouraged by his reactions. “Fuck,” he cursed, and you raised your head, your lips leaving his cock with a sinful  _ pop _ .

“Good boys don’t curse,” you parroted his earlier words with a devilish smile, wiping excess saliva away with the back of your hand.

Connor said nothing, instead pulling you up with a powerful grip, and you yelped in surprise before he crashed his lips against yours, tongue entangling with yours. The dual tastes of him in your mouth was intoxicating, and you melted against him.

You were straddling him now, and felt the heat of his cock against your sex, and you were already wet, hips grinding against him, adding to the slick already there from your mouth.

Your dream come true.

“Connor,” you said, pulling away from the kiss, eyes locked onto his. “You want this, right?”

He looked up at you, his brown eyes seeming to scan every feature of your face. He reached up, cupping a hand against your cheek, thumb running against the plane of your cheekbone. “Yes,” he answered. “I want this.”

He captured your lips again, and you felt him align himself with your entrance, then grip your hip, pushing you down insistently. You gave in easily, sinking down onto him, savoring every inch that filled you up. Connor moaned a ragged breath, and his body was hot against you, like he was overclocking. You could only imagine what this must be like for him, this sensation that was almost too much for you to bear, and you were  _ human _ .

Your hips settled against his, and you set there a moment, relishing the feeling, how his cock stretched you open and filled you up at the same time. But you weren’t content to just sit there, slowly raising your hips to drag your walls along his length, pleasure already beginning to tingle your spine.

You set a slow pace; teasingly slow. You wanted to watch every microexpression that crossed Connor’s face, to know that  _ you _ were the one making the curses tumble from his lips, the moans rip from his throat.

Connor had other plans, though, grabbing your hips, the tips of his fingers digging into your soft skin. He moved you, quickening your hips to fit a rhythm more suited to him, chasing his own pleasure.

“Ah, Connor,” you moaned, his hips thrusting up in time to meet yours, slamming his cock into you. “Fuck, so good--”

“Tell me,” Connor breathed, cheeks flushed blue as he watched you bounce on his cock. “Tell me how I make you feel.”

“God, Connor,” you gasped as he hit that spot again. “Fuck, I’m so--you make me feel so good.”

His hands dug into your hips, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you saw bruises in the shapes of his fingertips. You were moaning wantonly now, overcome with the sensation inside you. You brought your hand down to where you both met, your fingers finding your clit, swollen and still sensitive from your last orgasm.

Connor’s pace was almost brutal now, his harried thrusts becoming sloppier as you felt your core coil tightly, a spring ready to snap. “Connor, come with me,” you moaned, your climax imminent. “Come for me, Connor.”

You let out a strangled cry as the feeling hit you, your walls fluttering around him, and it sent him over the edge, too, his hips meeting yours roughly as you felt him come inside you.

“Fuck,” you cursed, catching your breath. You looked down at Connor, his chest heaving as well, his skin hot to the touch. He looked up at you with earnesty, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

Connor sat up, gently depositing you onto the couch before standing and stepping into the kitchen. He returned with a warm, damp cloth, which you gratefully took.

You sat there in your afterglow for a moment, before you noticed Connor was staring at you.

“What?” You asked, suddenly a little self-conscious.

“I’ve never done that before,” he answered. Oh god, _you_ _took his virginity_. Blush bloomed across your chest again, though this time from embarrassment. Connor smiled, his usual smirk, though there was nothing but affection behind it. “I’m glad it was with you.”

“Oh,” you replied, surprise coloring your face. “Well, I’m glad you’re glad.”

You were never good at post-coital pillowtalk.

There was another moment of silence. Then, “Did you mean it?”

You looked to Connor, brows knit together in confusion. “Mean what?”

“I make you feel like that all the time.”

“I--” you stammered, and wanted to cover it up, try to say it was the heat of the moment, just a silly thing. But then, fuck it, you’d made it this far. “Yeah. Yeah, I meant it.”

You watched Connor’s reaction carefully, but he betrayed no emotion. Back to his perfectly pleasant visage, you thought he didn’t really  _ want _ any of that. He was only doing as he was programmed to do. The implication was… Not pleasant.

“You make me feel like that, too,” Connor said. And you felt his fingers intertwine with yours on the cushion between you. He smiled, his gorgeous brown eyes filled with something you couldn’t place. Your lips turned up in return, and you leaned over, kissing him delicately.

You pulled away, and a thought struck you. “Did Lucille really send you over to check up on me?”

“Yes,” Connor replied. “She said she didn’t need your insecurities getting in the way of lunch, so I should visit and work them out with you.” Connor tilted his head slightly, “I wasn’t particularly sure what she had meant, though in retrospect, I believe she suspected you were attracted to me.”

“Oh Jesus,” you groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Goddammit, Luce.”

Lucille was  _ definitely _ going to ask you about this tomorrow.


End file.
